IC-NRLF 


RAJANI,  SONGS  of  the  NIGHT 


RAJANI 

SONGS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

By 
DHAN  GOPAL  MUKERJI 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION   BY 

DAVID  STARR  JORDAN,    CHANCELLOR  OF 

LELAND  STANFORD  JR.  UNIVERSITY 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •  SANFRANCISCO 


Copyright,  1916 
By  PAUL  ELDER  &  COMPANY 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


To  A—  C 


WITH  FRIENDSHIP  AND 
GRATITUDE 


332740 


Foreword 

7N  WRITING  these  poems,  the  spirit  and  the  music 
of  my  own  language,  Bengali,  have  overlapped 
the  English  meter.  No  desire  for  experiment  has 
created  them.  They  came  .  .  .  in  the  shadow- 
light  garment  of  the  dying  day  .  .  .  in  the  image 
of  my  own  beloved  Bengal. 

DHAN  GOPAL  MUKERJI. 


Introduction 

7N  THIS  little  volume  a  young  Hindu  scholar  has 
tried  to  express  in  English  "free  verse"  some 
thing  of  the  dream-poetry  of  his  native  Bengal. 
The  little  poems  are  not  translations,  nor  imitations. 
They  are  fancies  of  the  night,  "Rajani,"  suggestions 
and  hints  of  the  emotions  which  the  darkness  awakens 
in  the  mind  of  a  mystical  scholar.  In  the  first  of 
the  series,  "  Bhikshu"  (mendicant),  the  poet,  feels 
himself  awakening  as  a  suppliant  for  reality  in  the 
light  of  Oriental  thought.  With  the  dawn,  he  hails 
the  Lotus,  "Om  Moni  Padme  Om,"  as  the  symbol 
of  the  source  whence  flows  the  lt  nectar  of  sustenance," 
the  life-impulse  which  vivifies  all  living  creatures. 

"Rajani,"  the  world  of  baffling  dreams,  showers 
down  its  strange  sensations,  but  with  all  these  goes 
the  hidden  sense  of  lack  of  reality.  Through  the 
morning  dew  comes  the  song  of  the  "Bhikshu,"  the 
lute-player  who  has  lost  his  scroll  and  makes  his 
plea  for  reality. 

For  the  rest,  the  verses  must  tell  their  own  story. 
It  remains  for  me  to  say,  that  Dhan  Gopal  Mukerji 
was  born  near  Calcutta  in  1890,  that  he  was  educated 
in  the  Universities  of  Calcutta,  Tokyo,  California 
and  Stanford,  taking  his  degree  at  Palo  Alto,  in 
1914)  as  a  student  of  Comparative  Literature. 

DAVID  STARR  JORDAN. 

Stanford  University, 
February  18,  1916. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION vn 

BHIKSHU'S  SONG 3 

SONG  OF  THE  STARS 4 

RASHA  MEASURE.    A  DANCE  OF  THE  AUTUMN  FESTIVAL  OF  INDIA  8 

TARA-BINDU 10 

EVENING  STAR II 

FOLLOWING  THE  LIGHT .  12 

HER  POET 13 

To  BEAUTY 14 

"THE  NIGHT  BUILDS  HER  TEMPLE  OF  RAIN" 15 

"THE  RAIN  BUILDS  A  BRIDGE" 16 

THE  TOWER  OF  SILENCE 17 

NISHA 19 

BEFORE  THE  BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA 10 

"WHY  SAD,  LIKE  A  CRUSHED  FLOWER" 21 

"TAKE  THESE  FLOWERS" 22 

LOVE'S  CORONATION 23 

To  THE  SUN  SHORE 24 

"THE  FAIRIES  DANCE  IN  THE  FOREST  OF  SONG" 25 

"THE  HONEY-COLORED  MOON" 26 

A  DRAMA 27 

"WHITE  MIST  WINGS  THE  PINK-DRAPED  SKY" 28 

AFTER  READING  YONE  NOGUCHI 29 

"GOLD  AND  ROSE  THE  COLORS  HELD  IN  THE  PALETTE  OF  THE  SKY"  30 

"THE  MOUNTAIN  PEAKS,  A  HALTED  ARMY" 31 

"CORAL-MUSIC,  THE  SUNSET  WRITES  ON  THE  SCROLL  OF  THE  SEA*'  32 

LUNAR  RAINBOW 33 

THE  NEW  BUDDHA        34 

"THE  SUN  WATERS  THE  PASTURES  OF  HEAVEN" 35 

MEMORY  OF  CHILDHOOD  DAYS 36 

"An,  SLEEP-RAVISHED  EYES" 37 

"FORBID  ME  NOT" 38 

"!T  Is  BUT  COMING  AND  GOING"        39 

THE  HEART  OF  A  SONG 40 

STORM  WORSHIP 41 

"To  MY  HEART'S  GARDEN,  STEALTHILY  CAME  HE"    .....  42 

ERNEST  DOWSON 43 

SEDAN  BEARER'S  SONG 44 

"THE  SOUL  OF  DAY  MIGRATES  INTO  THE  NIGHT" 45 

THE  MADMAN 46 


PAGE 

"WHAT  DREAM-PEACOCK,  THIS  MOON"  48 

"THE  SUN  SINKS  INTO  AN  OCEAN  OF  MIST" 49 

THE  SUNSET  —  IMAGES 50 

THE  BELLS  OF  MOONLIGHT  AND  LEAF 51 

"STEPS  OF  ROSE" 51 

A  CONTRAST  53 

"THE  STAR-HANDS  PLAY  THE  HARP  OF  NIGHT" 54 

"THE  GREEN  HILL,  A  PRIEST  WITH  His  HOOD  OF  WHITE  MIST"  .  55 

INTOXICATED  56 

"THE  ROSY  STREAM  ROLLS  DOWN  THE  HILL"  57 

THE  FLOWER  GIRL        58 

Music  WITHIN  A  MIRROR 59 

LOVE'S  INCONSISTENCIES 60 

"LAVE  THY  LIMBS  IN  THE  STREAM  OF  MY  SONG" 61 

FLOWER  OF  DEATH  62 

"EYES,  SAD  EYES,  WHAT  WORDS  THEY  SPEAK" 63 

ROSE  64 

"THE  MOON  AT  THE  TREE  TOP"  65 

ON  A  STARRY  NIGHT 66 

"THE  SONG-BIRD  FALLS  ASLEEP"  67 

A  PICTURE 68 

"ONE  WORD  THE  SHIPS  SPEAK" 69 

"SILVER-FOOTED  DAWN" 70 

DANCE-WORSHIP 71 

"SuN,  MOON,  AND  STARS" 72 

PLOUGHMAN'S  SONG 73 

"GONE  YESTERDAY'S  RAIN" 74 

"THE  AMBER  DUSK  VEILS  THE  ORANGE-TINTED  SEA"  ....  75 

COMING  OF  DAWN 76 

"THY  WORLD  IT  Is" 77 

BIRTH  OF  DAY 78 


RAJANI,  SONGS  of  the  NIGHT 


m 

*  BHIKSHU'S  SONG 

A  Bhikshu  at  the  door, 
Om  Moni  Padme  Om ! 
A  lute-player  without  a  scroll; 
A  boatswain  without  his  toll. 
My  barque  is  laden  with  life, 
Bound  for  the  shore  of  light; 
Let  it  drift  with  the  stream 
To  its  destination  of  dream! 

A  Bhikshu  at  the  door, 

Om  Moni  Padme  Om ! 

A  singer  that  sings  of  sorrow; 

Whose  night  knows  no  tomorrow; 

My  song  finds  its  source 

In  its  moonless  immensity 

Bound  with  the  girdle  of  sleep; 

Love's  Nirvana,  the  only  pearl  in  its  deep. 

Bhikshu,  singer,  sorrower, 

I  see  the  face  of  thy  star; 

Om  Moni  Padme  Om ! 

A  barque  of  life  with  love, 

O,  guide  thou  from  above, 

With  thy  star-music's  silver  tone, 

Om  Momi  Padme  Om! 

*  Buddhist  monks  are  called  Bhikshus. 


4] 


SONG  OF  THE  STARS 

Sailing  unseen 

On  sapphire  wing. 

Linked  together  with  unseen  chain; 

Silently  swinging, 

Noiselessly  smiling, 

Bear  we  the  moon's  far-sweeping  train. 

She  like  a  queen 

Of  queenliest  dreams, 

Stepping  upon  the  cloudy  stair, 

Mounts  to  her  throne 

To  man  unknown, 

In  the  heaven's  blue  heart  bare. 

With  slender  hands, 

The  meteor  bands 

Sway  the  cloud- fans  many; 

Then  we  seek 

The  ocean's  deep, 

In  its  endless  symphony, 

For  hidden  treasures 

In  its  chambers, 

To  adorn  the  moon's  bright  crown; 

While  the  other  stars 

Search  afar, 

Over  green  lands  and  pools  of  brown. 

The  night's  heart, 

That  covers  the  earth, 

Embraces  heaven,  earth  and  sea; 

Her  fair  daughters, 

The  moon  and  the  stars, 

Are  her  smile,  mirth,  and  revery. 

With  love  endless, 

Her  mother's  breast 


Pours  incessant  nectar  white, 

For  us  to  drink; 

For  us  to  bring 

To  man,  praying  for  the  graces  of  night. 

On  her  lap, 

Silently  nap 

Green-tressed  plant  and  trees; 

In  her  arms 

That  dream  embalms, 

Rest  so  many  children  like  bees. 

And  their  souls 

Their  wings  unfold, 

Course  with  the  moon  and  us, 

From  sunset's  bank 

To  sun-dawn's  strand 

That  twilight  joins  like  an  isthmus, 

The  two  continents 

Of  time's  moments 

Known  as  night  and  day; 

Light  our  smile, 

Night  our  wile, 

The  sun's  light  and  the  moon's  ray. 

Through  infinite  space, 

At  phantom's  pace, 

Move  we  without  end; 

With  opal  laughter, 

We  make  and  mar 

Destiny's  good  and  evil  bent. 

With  perfumed  kiss 

On  youth's  sweet  lips, 

Open  we  the  checkered  doors  of  dream; 

With  gem  and  coral, 

We  make  the  coronal 


[6] 

That  from  love's  brow  doth  send  its  gleam 

Through  all  darkness, 

Like  a  largess 

To  descend,  dance  and  scatter 

Over  mountain-crest, 

The  valley's  breast, 

Its  glory  in  gold  and  silver. 

Then  life  and  love 

We  lift  silently  above 

For  blessing,  from  earth  yonder, 

To  night's  cathedral 

That  has  many  a  portal 

With  votaries  of  dream  and  star. 

First  they  enter 

Their  tribute  render 

At  sleep's  silent  hall; 

Then  silently  pace, 

With  humble  grace, 

Where  the  fairies  install 

Queen  fancy, 

Her  necromancy, 

On  her  throne  in  child's  soul. 

Then  they  pass 

With  awesome  hush 

To  that  portal  where,  whorl 

Rising  on  whorl 

Of  smoke  of  gold, 

Floating  on  saffron  wing 

Colors  the  arch 

The  columns  march 

And  cloud-fans  that  meteors  swing. 

From  behind  the  altar, 

Like  a  million  star, 


Wakes  the  Sungod  at  last ! 

We  dance  and  sing 

The  primal  hymn 

To  the  cloud-herald's  trumpet  blast. 

Lo,  the  king  rises! 

Shadow  vanishes, 

Thrilling  all  with  light  and  joy, 

The  glacial  mountain, 

And  limpid  fountain 

That  runs  adown  it  like  a  boy, 

With  message  of  light 

On  lips  snow-white 

To  the  sleeping  valley  beneath. 

Then  to  the  ocean, 

That  with  commotion 

Its  waking  breath  doth  heave. 

Our  song  is  over, 

We  fly  yonder, 

With  mother  night  and  moon, 

To  distant  lands, 

In  myriad  bands, 

Where  all  are  restfully  aswoon. 


[8] 

RASHA  MEASURE 
A  DANCE  OF  THE  AUTUMN  FESTIVAL  OF  INDIA 

The  champak*  showers  its  perfume  from  the  trees; 
The  lotus  petals  athrill  with  the  breeze, 
The  pellucid  pool  a  magic  mirror  for  beauty. 
And  the  faun-breeze  pipes  in  Rasha  measure,  for 

Thee. 
Dance,  my  Radha!    Thy  lac-dyed  feet,  tiny  red 

birds 

Free,  though  caged  by  thy  will,  like  the  bard's 
Songs  chained  to  the  ivory  throne  of  Poesy, 
That  with  delight  they  bear,  like  thy  feet,  thy 

golden  body  — 

Dance  of  love  that  is  born  not  to  live. 
Trip,  trip,  O  lotus  feet ! 
Let  them  weave,  weave  a  dream 
That  will  outmatch  the  march  of  eternity. 
Who  wants  eternity?    When  death's  fantasy, 
That  dwells  in  thy  smile,  in  the  artistry 
Of  thy  arms,  thy  snake-black  hair, 
That  chides  and  laughs  to  the  limpid  air? 

Daughter  of  mirth, 

Merry  mover  of  man's  heart, 

Songstress  of  heaven  on  earth, 

For  one  moment,  dance  upon  my  heart. 

Oh!     It  keeps  time,  though  not  knowing  how  — 

With  thine  anklets  ringing,  now  loud,  now  low, 

Again  so  fast.     Why  so  fast? 

Are  they  breaking,  as  my  heart? 

Cease  not  dancing,  though  death  is  at  my  door! 

Stop  not  laughing,  though  I  hear  no  more! 

*  Champak  is  a  soft  yellow  aromatic  flower. 


[9] 

Let  thine  eyes  twinkle,  shine  without  end; 
God's  face  they  mirror,  that  makes  death  wend 
His  way  afar,  far  away  from  thee 
With  the  moon's  setting  as  the  tide  of  the  sea. 
Yet  I  die,  die  —  to  live:  under  the  champak  tree, 
Where  the  breeze  pipes  in  Rasha  measure  for  thee. 


[10] 
TARA-BINDU 

As  the  breeze  falls  asleep, 

The  brush  of  sunset 

Draws  the  rosy  cloud-scape 

On  the  canvas  of  the  sky; 

The  blue  hills  in  repose 

Listen  to  the  pearl  lullaby  of  the  mist. 

A  song  of  dimming  light,  this, 
And  dance  of  shadows  with  silver  feet, 
For  the  joy  of  one  shy  star-maid 
Seeking  hiding  from  the  moon 
Behind  the  emerald  screen  of  the  sea. 


[II] 

EVENING  STAR 

Many  a  twilight  hour, 

Gazing  at  thee,  I  wonder 

What  might  thine  name  be, 

Thou  resplendent  star? 

As  the  crimson  sun 

Sinks  behind  the  cirque  of  rocks, 

Like  a  spark  of  hope 

To  cheer  the  desolate  hour, 

Thou  arisest,  dream-maiden  of  night; 

Thy  rays,  pulsating  through 

The  throbbing  heart  of  time, 

Outreach  the  boundless  shores  of  space. 

My  soul  amazed,  I  gaze  and  gaze 

To  fathom  thy  depths.     I  dare  not! 

Yet  through  the  latticed  bars  of  life, 

Thy  soul  I  seek,  transcendent  flower  of  night ! 


[12] 
FOLLOWING  THE  LIGHT 

Your  smile  hath  called  me  mutely. 

Like  the  lingering  light 
That  beckons  the  shy  and  silent  star 

To  follow  her 
Mate  behind  the  sky,  beyond  the  bar. 

I  listened  to  your  urgent  call 

Echoed  by  the  empty  vault 
Where  ascends  my  soul  like  the  mute  star, 

And  like  her 
I  follow  your  smile,  but  reach  you  never. 

Ah,  vain  the  search!  fruitless  my  toil! 

My  eyes  are  dimmed,  see  not 
Far,  nor  near; 

Like  the  paling  star, 
I  fall,  I  faint   .    .    .   "Come!"   .    .    .   Never! 


HER  POET 

Many  a  bard 

Sang  many  a  song; 
Many  a  dreamer 

Dreamt  many  a  dream; 
Many  a  smile 

Cast  many  a  beam; 
Many  a  lover 

Loved,  eternal,  long. 

But  no  life 

Lived  like  his; 
None  sang 

Sweet  like  him; 
None  loved 

Love  like  him; 
No  love 

True  as  his. 


TO  BEAUTY 

Faithful  I  be  or  not  to  thy  soul-call, 

Yet  thou  awaitest  at  my  door, 
In  winter's  spotless  white,  or  summer's 

Gold-green-crimson  garb; 
Ever  smiling  thy  lips,  tearfully  sweet  thine  eyes! 

Constancy  —  ah!  how  vain  a  word! 
Too  little  like  a  star  to  contain  all  of  night's 
majesty! 

What  shall  I  name  thy  love,  O  goddess  ? 
Deep  in  my  dark  heart  I  moan  for  nothing, 

Shed  tears  for  what  can  not  be, 
Like  the  unwished-for  rain  of  summer,  that  weeps 
uselessly. 

Cruelly  I  lie,  I  lie  hidden, 
While  thou  waitest  for  me  through  an  eternity 

Of  heart-breaking  expectancy: 
At  last  I  come,  mine  eye  hath  seen  thy  glory, 

Thy  rose-red,  love-kindling  lips, 
Thine  eyes,  dark  like  the  heart  of  night, 

Two  homes  of  immortal  mystery. 
I  come,  contrite,  weeping,  forgiven; 

Let  my  lips  kiss  thy  dove-like  feet, 
My  heart's  perfume  pour  I  on  them, 

And  my  soul  set  to  song 
Thy  song,  endless  song,  from  earth  to  heaven 

Like  a  sky-rover's  at  dawn. 


The  night  builds  her  temple  of  rain : 
In  the  forest  a  sobbing  music 
Played  by  the  hands  of  darkness 
On  the  scale  of  dark  leaves. 

No  bird-song  stirs  the  soul; 
Nor  the  golden  dawn-harmonies; 
A  cry,  a  shedding  of  tears, 
A  music  of  sable  tonalities. 

Truly,  a  temple  of  silence  and  sound, 
A  vibrant,  and  dim  solitude, 
A  gray  telling  of  black  beads; 
A  prayer,  a  moan,  a  dim  worship. 


The  rain  builds  a  bridge 

Between  the  sky  and  the  sea; 
The  breeze  sings  his  beggar-song 

From  the  brine  to  the  lea; 
A  lone  tree,  solitary  pilgrim, 

Waits  on  the  shore  of  the  deep 
To  walk  on  the  steps  of  waves  strewn  with  rain- 
flowers, 

Up  to  the  temple  of  Eternal  Sleep. 


*  THE  TOWER  OF  SILENCE 

Silent!    Tread  airily! 

Hush,  pilgrim! 
Lay  your  tribute  softly, 

They  sleep,  they  sleep   .    .    . 
The  dwellers  of  this  tower  lonely. 

From  life's  path  tortuous. 

Travelled  they 
To  this  solemn  house  that  towers 

Its  head 
To  the  heavens'  eternal  bowers. 

Pray  soulfully,  mutely, 

Kneel  reverently, 
Utter  no  word,  sadly,  coldly, 

Walk  hence  humbly. 

They  sleep,  the  dead, 

In  that  tower; 
Laying  their  burdened  heads 

At  God's  feet, 
As  they  lie  at  rest  on  the  couch  of  death. 

Silent!    Tread  airily! 

Hush,  pilgrim! 
Lay  your  tribute  softly — 

They  sleep,  they  sleep  .    .    . 
The  dwellers  of  this  tower  lonely. 


"The  Zoroastrians,  instead  of  burying   their  dead,  leave   them   in  the 
Tower  of  Silence. 


[18] 

Ah,  have  they  spoken  to  thee 

A  soundless  word  ? 
Weep  not,  though  to  live  is  to  weep, 

Ah,  gently,  gently, 
Walk  hence  reverently! 


[I9J 

NISHA 

I  fell  asleep, 

Hearing  melody 
That  fell  from  lip  to  lip. 

The  stars  sang  it 
To  the  wind,  that  took  it 

To  the  rose,  shivering  in  the  cold  of  night. 

The  rose  gave  it 

To  the  nightingale,  who  sang  it 
Back  to  the  stars,  the  earth  and  the  sea. 

And  I,  to  it  listening, 
Fell  asleep  dreaming. 

NOTE:  —  From  the  author's  own  Bengali. 


[SO] 
BEFORE  THE  BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA 

Dead,  thou  never  art, 

Though  no  breath  stirs  thine  armored  form, 

Thy  bronzed  lips  not  a  word  do  speak. 

All  these  years,  two  thousand  and  more, 

What  hast  thou  seen  —  thine  eyes  closed? 

What  hast  thou  been  feeling,  senseless  body! 

All  thy  luminous  dreams  hid  from  mankind's  ken  ? 

Yet  would  I  give  thee  all  I  am, 

If,  for  a  moment,  these  eyes  could  see 

What  thou  seest  eternally. 


[21] 

Why  sad,  like  a  crushed  flower, 
Thy  smile-adorned  face? 
They,  the  sparkling  rays 
That  the  dawn  of  day 
Sends  through  the  silent  trees, 
Have  they  hurt  thee? 

Cease  not  to  smile  — 

The  sun  will  set  soon, 

The  darkness  fall, 

"Ave  Maria"  sing  the  breeze. 

Then,  my  soul's  sovereign  deity, 
Through  the  long,  long  hours  of  night, 
Made  bright  with  the  moon's  light, 
We  will  hold  our  tryst. 


[22] 

Take  these  flowers 
God's  beloved  child, 
Receive  them  kindly; 
Though  they  are  wild, 
They  grew  in  my  heart 
That  bleeds  for  thee. 
Why  art  thou  making 
A  garden  of  roses  ? 
Art  thou  forgetting? 
Have  I  brought  roses 
From  thine  own  garden, 
Red  with  the  bloom  of  love? 
Sun-flower  I  bring; 
It  is  the  day  of  love's  birth. 
The  garden  is  athrill 
With  song  and  mirth: 
Oh,  take  all,  fruit  and  flower 
And  that  lotus  —  my  soul ! 


LOVE'S  CORONATION 

Thou  and  I, 

In  the  world  of  stars, 

Where  no  limit  the  limitless  mars: 

Thou  and  I  afar, 

Beyond  the  smile  of  the  star 

Beyond  the  sun's  many-colored  bar. 

In  the  bosom  of  night, 

Beyond  the  lunar  dart, 

I  will  enthrone  thee  queen  of  my  heart. 


M4J 

TO  THE  SUN  SHORE 
(AFTER  HEARING  A  BENGALI  SONG) 

Fill  with  the  breeze  of  hope 
The  unfurled  sail  of  your  boat! 
O  maiden,  row,  row  on  faster,  row! 
There  dances  the  golden  cloud, 
Where  the  sea  kisses  the  sky  blue  — 
O  maiden,  row  faster,  row! 

The  witches  laugh  behind; 
Yonder  lies  the  haven  of  light; 
Before  the  light  of  love  doth  cease, — 
Look!    The  birds,  like  argonauts, 
Sail  in  quest  of  the  golden  cloudy  fleece; 
Before  the  sun  closes  his  eyes, 
Speechless  swain  of  my  bark,  row,  row 
Beyond,  beyond  the  gold-cloud's  bar. 


The  fairies  dance  in  the  forest  of  Song; 
Silver  cymbals  ring  in  the  grove  of  dreams; 
Round  the  islet  of  green  fancies, 
Beyond  the  world's  barren  promontory, 
Bring  your  sunset  barque, 
With  pilgrims  from  the  land  of  Life. 

The  stars  mingle  their  tears  of  joy 
With  the  mellow  effulgence  of  the  moon; 
The  Song-birds  wake,  thinking  it  day, 
And  pour  their  hearts  in  accord  with  a  luminous 
tune. 

Oh,  come  to  the  Forest  of  Forgetting! 
Play  the  lutes  of  your  soul  evermore ! 
Thrid  on  the  harp  of  sorrow's  heart; 
Let  joy-notes  through  the  lyre-strings  pour. 

Dance,  ye  fairies  from  the  valley  of  sleep ! 
Trip,  O  rose-feet,  in  moonlight  dipped! 
Let  waves  of  the  stream  of  notes 
Wash  the  sky  with  golden  tones; 
For  ye  to  minuet  up  the  moon-set  hills, 
Where  silent  mist  makes  silver  music. 


The  honey-colored  moon, 
Washed  in  silver; 
The  stars,  luminous  clusters  of 
Grapes,  hung  from  invisible  vines. 

Ah,  were  I  a  daring  mariner, 

I  would  sail  on  the  barge  of  the  moon 

To  the  far  island  of  God's  mirth, 

Where  they  drink  star-wine, 

And  dance  to  the  music  of  the  spheres. 


A  DRAMA 

This  deep  yet  unfilled  night 

Has  rites; 

A  worship,  a  dance,  and  speech; 
A  passion  play  of  leaves  and  light, 

Singing  and  sounding 
Without  noise,  without  life, 
Of  its  own  immense  intangibility, 
"Trance-bedimmed"  and  silence-bright. 


White  mist  wings  the  pink-draped  sky; 

Gold  clouds  kiss  the  blue  mountain  crest; 

Song-birds  soar  and  mock  their  love  with  laugh 
ter  and  cry! 

The  baby  smiles  in  silver  joy 

To  the  stars'  silent,  flower-like  call. 

Mother  whispers  with  tulip-lips,  pearl-tears  fill 
ing  her  eyes. 

The  Child 

Sees  not;  dream  has  closed  his  ivory  lids, 

With  the  sun's  sinking  into  the  ocean  of  sleep. 
The  crescent  flings  in  a  mood  of  mirth  his  drapery 
of  purple  and  stars; 

The  gray  arm  of  the  mist  embraces  the  valley 
and  the  dark. 

The  Song-bird  has  ceased;  the  tulip  closed  its  lips. 

All  is  still 

Save  the  breeze, 

Fanning  the  world  to  sleep. 

"The  moon  is  "masculine"  in  Bengali. 


AFTER  READING  YONE  NOGUCHI 

Between  the  rose  garden 

And  the  sunset, 

I  sought  my  beloved. 
Between  the  dawn's  blush 

And  night's  star; 
Between  dream's  arm  and 

Sleep's  embrace, 

I  sought  my  beloved, 
Between  the  rose  garden  and  the  sunset. 


Gold  and  rose  the  colors  held  in 
The  palette  of  the  sky, 

For  the  sun-bar  paint-brush 

Of  nature  to  paint  with  these 

His  sunset,  on  His  blue 

Heavens,  and  green-blue  hills. 


The  mountain  peaks,  a  halted  army, 
Helmeted  with  gold  and  green; 
The  sea  before  them  a  veil  of  pink 
That  the  moon  casts  away, 
To  wear  the  gold-violet  robe  of  mist 
Before  entering  the  Shrine  of  night. 


Coral-music,  the  sunset  writes  on  the  scroll  of  the 

sea; 

Gold  strings  are  strung  in  the  harp  of  the  sky; 
Cloud-fingers,  playing  on  them, 
Make  noiseless  gossamer-melody; 
As  the  amber-draped  moon-maid 
Trips  from  the  sea  to  the  Heavens 
Dancing  the  measure  of  evening  worship. 


LUNAR  RAINBOW 

The  moon  spreads  a  rainbow  fan 

With  her  beams,  and  the  cloud 

Puts  on  it  one  star   .    .    . 

A  song  within  a  dream. 

What  moon-maid  after  dance, 

On  what  balcony  standing, 

Cools  her  face  with  this  fan, 

The  star  holding  a  mirror  to  her  eyes? 


[34] 

THE  NEW  BUDDHA 

The  moonbeams,  like  intangible  flowers; 
The  air,  the  trembling  drapery  of  the  priest; 
The  murmur  of  the  river,  a  soft  chant   .    .    . 
All  are  there  at  the  feet  of  Night, 
The  white  Buddha  on  the  shore  of  Sleep, 
Brooding  over  a  new  Nirvanic  peace. 

The  silence  of  enlightenment,  a  new  ecstasy, 

Calls  our  souls  like  bees 

To  suck  honey  from  the  lotus  of  Eternity. 

A  perfection  this,  of  silence,  of  peace  and  light; 

Night,  the  only  Buddha  that  attains  to  it. 


[351 

The  sun  waters  the  pastures  of  heaven 
With  warm  rains  of  light; 

For  the  golden-lambkins  to  graze   .    . 
The  star-flocks  of  night. 


[36] 

MEMORY  OF  CHILDHOOD  DAYS 

A  pain  become  pleasure; 

A  silence  become  song; 
Sorrow  moving  to  joy's  measure; 

A  night  gold-draped  as  dawn. 

The  pink  adorned  heavens; 

The  low  tone  of  the  breeze; 
A  little  child  star-gazing  — 

The  mariner  of  dreams'  deep  seas. 

Oh,  the  gladness  that  comes  here. 

When  memory  brings  the  hour  in 

Through  the  portals  of  reverie. 

When  the  one  star  doth  the  sun  bedim. 

Indeed,  a  gladness  born  of  sadness, 

Those  days  held  in  memory's  sieve 

Like  numberless  gems  from  Time's  mine, 
That  their  mother-mine  outlive. 


[37l 

Ah,  sleep-ravished  eyes 
Dream  of  a  paradise, 
That  close  to  our  heart  lies, 
Sleep-ravished  eyes. 

Peace  and  pleasure, 
Their  music  and  measure; 
Love  and  love's  treasure, 
Oh,  peace  in  pleasure! 

Eyes  dark  and  deep; 
All  dreams  they  keep 
In  their  labyrinths  of  sleep; 
Oh,  eyes  dark,  deep! 


[38] 

Forbid  me  not 

To  come  to  your  side  of  the  stream; 

The  water  from  yours 

Naughtily  flows  into  mine. 

My  pitcher  refuses 

To  hear  the  gurgle  of  your  water; 

Yet,  it  mysteriously  fills 

Its  every  corner,  till  all  soundless  is; 

Like  your  love 

Wordless,  filling  the  cup  of  my  life. 


l39l 

It  is  but  coming  and  going; 
Laughing  or  weeping; 
In  dark  or  day! 
Life  is  but  a  lay: 
Rings  sad  or  gay. 
Depending  on  our  singing. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  SONG 

The  sun  glints  the  waves  with  silver; 
The  gull,  a  white  butterfly  of  desire; 
The  barque,  a  fancy  of  some  intoxicated  singer. 

The  brown  islets,  lost  souls  from  the  world  of 

song; 

The  wind,  an  ever-sounding,  unseen  gong, 
Telling  of  the  worship  of  the  sun,  the  sea  and  the 

storm. 

Blue,  brown,  silver,  song,  sound  and  storm; 
Dreams  of  a  dying  hour,  shadow  of  a  morn 
That  we  have  seen  mirrored  in  the  heart  of  song. 


STORM  WORSHIP 

The  cloud-cymbals  make  the  music  of  the  thunder; 
The  lightning-maid  dances  to  its  measure; 
While  the  breeze-devotees  sing  their  prayer. 

A  worship  of  lunatics,  this; 

God-mad  souls  seeking  peace; 

Dervishes,  whose  agony  knows  no  surcease. 

No  many-color-robed  priest  is  here; 
No  conch-shell's  flourish  and  blare; 
No  frankincense,  myrrh,  or  perfume  rare. 

A  worship  of  passion  and  powers; 

A  benediction  of  liquid  flowers 

Poured  through  a  million  silver  showers. 


[44] 

To  my  heart's  garden,  stealthily 

Came  he 
To  steal  the  rose  that  bloomed  in  it. 

Ah,  thief! 

I  caught  him,  hand,  head  and  heart; 
Smile!     Cry!  a  robber,  thou  art! 

Ah,  me  — 
Who  caught  whom,  He  —  me  ? 


[431 

ERNEST  DOWSON 

By  the  limpid  pool  at  twilight. 

Sat  he 
Wearily  watching  its  slumberous  deep, 

Like  his  sad  soul, 

For  jeweled  fishes? 
Like  the  phantoms  of  his  dreams, 
That  elude  imagination's  reach; 
Like  those  airy  beings  far-soaring  overhead 

In  the 

Pale-colored,  star-crowned  height? 
A  faint  smile  lay  on  his  pale  lips, 

Like  the 
Last,  low,  lingering  light 

That  slides 
Adown  the  inverted  cup  of  blue, 

To  make  room  for  her, 

The  shining  star. 
Gently  drooped  his  golden  head; 
As  the  pool  drew  its  veil  of  black, 

He  fell  asleep, 
By  the  woodside  green  and  dark. 


[44] 

SEDAN  BEARER'S  SONG 

Star  of  our  dream, 

Flower  of  our  song; 

Carry  her  tenderly, 
Carry  her  on. 

Light  of  our  life, 

Soul  of  our  love; 
On  the  wings  of  air, 

Bear  her  above. 

Undying  light, 

Unsetting  star, 
Flower  of  immortality, 

Heart  of  our  love. 

With  the  breath  of  perfume, 

Warm  and  rare, 
Bear  her  joyously, 

Bear  her  fair. 


[451 

The  soul  of  day  migrates  into  the  night; 

The  moon  on  the  eastern  hill; 

The  sound  of  work  seeks  repose 

Through  sunset's  silence,  into  deeper  silence  still! 

No  dark  this  eve,  but  a  silver  flow 

Washing  from  the  sky  the  dusty  sunset  glow, 

Then  mount  it  with  a  soft  star  — 

A  reflection  of  God's  eye  in  Heaven's  mirror. 


U6] 

THE  MADMAN 

Was  it  a  wayside  flower, 

Or  was  it  her  face, 

Made  thee  mad,  brother? 

Or  a  madness  grown  apace 

With  a  love  that  sought 

The  image  of  its  soul 

That  with  life  cannot  be  bought; 

Nor  death's  eternal  roll 

Of  days  and  moving  years 

Can  take  it  out  of  memory's  bourne? 

'Twas  not  love   .    .    .   maybe,  hate 

That  made  thy  heart  mad; 

Hurled  thee  in  this  state! 

O  brother!  be  not  sad; 

Madness  the  guerdon  of  the  gods 

To  those  that  sought  gladness, 

And  forgot  Fate  that  lords 

Over  Love's  life  and  largess; 

Give  us,  yes,  what  we  seek   .    .    . 

Alas!  not  as  we  need,  but  as  they  see  fit. 

Sorrow  not,  though  it  pains  thee. 

Laugh!  thou  laughest  as  mad! 

What  matters  if  death  be 

Near?  ah!  be  glad. 

They  did  not  see  thy  way, 

Nor,  didst  thou  seek  theirs. 

Let  their  voices  sing  thy  lay; 

Who  knows  ?  the  eye  that  stares 

At  thee  may  be  hers 

Telling  thee  mutely,  thou  hast  won  at  last! 


[47] 

Now,  one  more  ring  of  laughter, 

A  moment's  star-gazing, 

Then  let  us  hence  depart,  brother, 

Wide  ope'  the  doors  of  the  future. 

Ha!  mad  they  name  thee! 

Bad  not  their  hearts,  it  seems 

Their  life  has  its  immortality, 

While  yours,  an  infinity  of  dreams. 

Let  flowers  and  faces  fade; 

New  ones  will  blossom  and  the  old  will  be  dead 


[48] 

What  dream-peacock,  this  moon. 

With  voice  of  silence, 

Bejeweled  with  the  golden  stars, 

With  its  spread  fan,  the  tree  — 

What  dance,  this? 

What  rain-cloud  hath  it  seen 

In  the  sky  of  night's  intangibility? 


149J 

The  sun  sinks  into  an  ocean  of  mist; 

The  trees  spread  their  green  wings  for  flight; 
A  silence  spreads  over  hill  and  valley; 

A  pale  moon  leads  the  caravan  of  night. 

The  "star- traders"  come  from  the  desert  of  East 
With  their  loads  of  gold  and  silver; 

As  the  breeze,  that  unseen  camel  walks  along, 
Setting  the  golden  western  mists  aquiver. 

The  last  flicker  of  light  fades  away  fast; 

Comes  darkness,  telling  dewy  beads; 
The  trees,  shadow-like,  melt  into  the  sky; 

The  drowsy  West  seeks  to  echo  the  silence  of 
the  East. 


[50] 

THE  SUNSET-IMAGES 

The  cloud-ships  afire  in  the  west; 

Crimson,  the  surface  of  the  lake; 

The  sun-brush  paints  the  forest-canvas 

In  gold  and  green  and  red; 

While  the  breeze-child  turns  the  leaves  of  the  trees 

In  the  book  of  sunset-images  for  twilight  dreams. 


THE  BELLS  OF  MOONLIGHT  AND  LEAF 

The  moonlight  and  the  leaves, 

Bells,  these. 

With  tongues  of  silence; 
Chiming  in  silver,  violet  and  green; 
Ringing,  rising,  then  falling  on 

The  ground, 

Set  to  weaving  shadow-sounds 
With  the  dark  threads  of  sleep. 

Like  liquid  gems  pouring  to  a  measure 

Of  perfume, 

With  shades  of  lavender  tunes; 
A  dream-music  of  soundless  sounds. 

More  than  silence  and  sleep, 

This  bell  melody 
Of  light,  of  air,  and  leaf, 
Played  by  moon-bedimmed  stars; 

As  corals  in  the  deeps  of  a  sea 

Making 

Pearl-harmonies  with  emerald  tones, 
To  the  cadence  of  an  Eternal  Dream. 

Ah!  more  than  Eternal  Dream, 

This  moment, 

A  silver,  silent  tintinnabulation 
Of  the  bells  of  moonlight  and  leaf. 


[52] 

Steps  of  rose 

On  rosier  steps; 

Thus,  evening 

Builds  her  staircase 

Between  sunset 

And  the  infinite  roof  of  space. 

So  our  fancies 

May  fold  their  wings, 

And  walk  on  gleams 

Of  unending  purple  and  pink, 

Up  to  the  blue  pool   .    .    . 

And  drink  from  its  starry  rim. 


[531 

A  CONTRAST 

The  sunset  puts  a  necklace  of  cloud-pearls 
Around  the  neck  of  the  West; 
Pink-blue  veils,  the  gray  mist  weaves 
For  the  East  seeking  sleep  and  rest. 

Beyond  the  hills,  the  single  star  smiles  like  a  blos 
soming  flower, 

As  the  moon  silently  pours  her  lullaby  of  silver 

Into  the  ear  of  East,  now  fast  asleep; 

While  the  West's  golden  fever  burns  away  its  only 
star. 


154] 

The  star-hands  play  the  harp  of  night; 

Gold,  blue,  and  silver  the  tones  of  its  music; 

Like  soundless  curves  of  dark  and  emerald- 
harmony 

That  golden-feathered  swans  of  reverie  make, 

As  they  draw  their  trains  of  dreams  across  the 
pools  of  sleep. 


[551 

The  green  hill,  a  priest  with  his  hood  of  white 

mist; 

The  sky  a  conch-shell  of  turquoise 
Through  whose  hollow  the  breeze  calls  the  pilgrims 
To  this  noonday  worship. 

Weary  the  soul  of  all  things,  this  hour, 

Save  the  bee,  who,  free  from  all  thought  of  wor 
ship, 

Visits  her  flower-lovers  — 

She  too  a  devotee,  in  the  honeyed  sanctuary  of 
Cythera. 


[56] 

INTOXICATED 

Wine  of  life?     I  have  drunk  of  it! 
Ocean  of  sorrow?     I  bathed  in  it! 
Fountain  of  love!     I  have  listened  to  it 
Playing  melodies 
On  the  moon's  many-stringed  light. 

The  lake  of  friendship,  I  contain  in  my  soul; 
The  river  of  joy  has  flowed  into  it; 
And  on  the  upland  of  my  heart, 
Dances  dream-footed, 
Song-drunk  Radha. 

Krishna,  the  player  of  flute, 

The  lover,  the  playful  enchanter  of  hearts  — 

He  has  drunk  of  the  wine  of  my  life: 

Is  bound  by  the  magic  of  my  art. 

Who  am  I  ?     Maker  of  lute  from  the  East, 
Have  breathed  into  it  the  soul  that  is  God; 
How  can  I  do  it?     Foolish  thy  inquiry: 
I  do  all!  —  I  have  drunk  of  the  wine  of  life. 


[57] 

The  rosy  stream  rolls  down  the  hill; 

Bareth  her  silver  heart,  the  lake; 

The  tall  trees,  litter-bearers  these, 

Carry  the  goddess  of  dawn,  who  will  lave  her  limbs 

In  the  confluence  of  the  lake  and  the  stream. 

"Festival  of  light!"  chant  the  bird-priests. 

The  breeze  chimes  in  ecstasy 

Through  the  palm-tree  on  the  lea; 

The  wicked  sun  steals  a  glance 

At  the  Bacchanal  of  dawn  from  field  to  field. 

"Arise,  awake,  see!"  the  barque  of  light, 

Drifting  through  the  hollow  of  the  sky 

In  quest  of  the  shadows  fleeing  far  into  the  land 

of  sleep; 

While,  stringing  her  lyre  with  sunbeams, 
Nature  plays  her  music  of  life. 


[58] 

THE  FLOWER-GIRL 

Rose  or  jasmine? 

Champak  or  shephali  ? 

Or  a  poppy-lamp  with  dewy  flame   .    .    . 

What  bringest  to  the  Temple,  maid  ? 

Garlands  of  Shiuli, 

That,  dew-diamond-like, 

The  stars  made  on  the  green  blades 

In  their  own  eternal  image? 

Is  it  a  lotus, 

The  evening  lily  — 

A  star,  that  day  leaves  at  night's  altar? 

Or  the  morning  sun  ? 

None  of  these  ? 

Not  the  morning  star? 

Nor  the  white  chalice  of  trance,  the  Dhutura? 

What  flower,  then,  for  this  dawn's  altar? 

A  garland  of  thine  emotions,  these! 

Ah!  lotuses  from  tnine 

Endless  lake  of  love; 

And  the  sunflower  of  thy  heart ! 


['59 1 

MUSIC  WITHIN  A  MIRROR 

The  lake,  a  silver  mirror  in  a  frame  of  green; 
The  swans  on  it  but  white  fancies  in  a  whiter 
dream. 

The  enchanted  bowl  of  blue  below  the  rim, 
But  a  goblet  with  liquid  diamonds,  filled  to  the 
brim. 

White  within  white,  a  song  in  a  sea, 
Painted  within  a  mirror,  green  hill  and  tree. 

Moveless  music,  without  murmur  or  moan; 
Swan-made  curves,  its  tune,  its  measure,  and  tone. 


[6o] 

LOVE'S  INCONSISTENCIES 

Why  closed  thou  thine  eyes  — 
Two  ever-lit  homes  of  love? 

Why  heave  sighs, 

Thou  happiest  dove? 

Why  dost  sleep. 

When  love  awakes? 
Why  dost  weep, 

When  love  merry-makes? 

Why  the  sadness  of  Autumn 
With  thy  smile  of  Spring? 

Why,  with  the  light  of  morn, 
Night's  darkening  dream? 

Oh,  cease  doubting! 

Open  thine  eye! 
See,  love  knows  no  ending! 

Song  doth  not  die! 


Lave  thy  limbs  in  the  stream  of  my  song! 
Why  this  cruel  blessing,  queen  of  my  heart? 
The  source  has  ceased  to  be,  many  a  day  now; 
The  flow  but  a  sand-stream,  I  know  not  how  long. 
O  traveller  after  my  soul,  why  call  for  the  ferry? 
^Eons  I  waited  to  hear  thy  voice,  to  hearken  to 

thee, 
Thine  arm  chiselled  and  painted  by  God's  own 

hand 

To  beckon  me.     Alas !  the  river  of  expectation 
Is  no  more;  the  barque  of  joy  doth  not  float. 
Wilt  lave  thy  feet?  take  my  tears! 
Come,  goddess-guest,  grant  me  this  boon, 
Before  these  eyes  are  dry  —  this  soul  a  desert. 


[62] 
FLOWER  OF  DEATH 

"Hast  thou  come?  what  hast 

Thou  brought  for  me?" 

Asked  she. 
Then  he,  dreamt  she,  bent  lower 

To  bring  the  flower 

Nearer  to  her 
Whitening,  cooling  lips  and  nose 

Like  fading  rose 

Falling  to  repose. 
"What  hast  thou  brought  for 

My  bridal  hour?" 

Asked  a  whisper: 
Then  his  arms  gathered  the  cold 

Body,  death-cold, 

Whilom  of  gold. 
"Sweet  flower!"  said  she. 

Faded  her  last  kiss 

On  death's  lips. 


[63  ] 

Eyes,  sad  eyes,  what  words  they  speak! 

Words  sweet  as  music  —  music  that  renders  sad 
ness  sweet, 

Have  they  all,  the  reveries,  found  their  home  in 
the  eyes,  thine  eyes,  sad  eyes? 


[64] 

ROSE 

Rose  has  a  life,  they  say; 
Life  that  lives  in  day 
Through  night's  darknesses. 

Rose  has  a  message  to  say 
To  you,  to  her,  to  they 
That  pray  for  her  graces. 

Rose  has  love  to  give  away; 

She  gives  it  to  the  gay 

And  those  that  kiss  her  thorny  tresses. 

Rose  is  red,  they  say; 

She  blushes  in  dark  and  day 

For  lovers,  unashamed,  greet  with  kisses. 

Rose  has  a  heart,  they  say, 
A  heart  that  beats  in  May, 
And  when  receiving  Autumn's  caresses. 

Rose's  soul,  they  say, 
Is  whiter  than  sun's  day 
That  dispels  life's  dimnesses. 

Rose  is  love's  beauteous  bay, 
Lives  ever,  night  or  day; 
Her  smiles  and  blushes  are  our  soul's 
mistresses. 


[65] 

The  moon  at  the  treetop; 

The  green  leaves  a-tremble; 
The  golden  glow's  last  throb 

With  the  call  of  the  cymbal. 

The  Goddess  of  this  hour, 

Peering  silently  through  her  star-woven 
veil 
From  her  throne  in  night's  aerial  bower, 

While  the  chakoras*  whistling,  moonward 
sail. 

What  soft  voices  sing, 

Whispering  strange  messages  of  love ! 
What  are  those  moon-eyes  seeking? 

Is  there  no  love  above? 

Love,  let  thine  eyes  speak  to  mine 

More  silently  than  one  star  to  another; 

Pour  thy  soft  smile  like  wine 

Into  my  mouth,  thy  lips  on  mine  —  thy 
lips  so  rare! 

*  Chakoras  are  the  legendary  birds  of  Bengal,  who  are  supposed  to  fly  to 
the  moon  and  suck  honey  from  her  heart. 


[66] 

ON  A  STARRY  NIGHT 

The  Milky  Way, 

That  silver  shadow, 

Binds  the  heaven  and  earth 

Like  the  chain  of  love. 

*         *        * 

The  star-hosts,  smiling  guests  of  night, 

Witness  this  meeting  of  love; 

And  my  soul,  in  a  silver  stream 

Like  "the  Way," 

Flows  to  meet  them  all 

Across  the  ocean  of  night's  silence, 

Beyond  the  Universe's  wall. 

*  The  Milky  Way  has  different  names  in  each  language,  it  seems.  The  Irish 
call  it  "Leugh's  Chain";  the  Swedes  most  probably  name  it  "The  Silver 
Way";  the  Hindus  call  it  the  "Shadow  Path,"  and  the  Chinese  call  it 
the  "Silver  Stream." 


[67] 

The  song-bird  falls  asleep; 
The  West,  a  silent  song; 
Timorous  the  breath  of  the  breeze. 
Like  my  soul  at  thy  feet. 

The  eucalyptus,  after  bathing  her  hair  in  the 

pink-gold  shower, 
Puts  a  flower  in  it: 
The  evening  star. 

Shadows  trip  in  from  the  East, 
Like  Bacchantes  of  nothing;  as 
Day  breathes  his  soul  into  the  night; 
And  my  heart  flows  like  a  stream  — 

In  search  of  a  vasty  sea, 

Washing  away  life's  impurity; 

On  it,  drifts  my  love:  a  precious  argosy! 


68 


A  PICTURE 

Emerald,  the  rim  of  the  sea; 
Purple  sentinels,  the  hills; 
The  breeze  half-dead  or  dying: 
It  is  a  song  without  singing. 

The  sun,  the  sweeper  of  the  sky, 
Washes  it  with  the  white  of  day; 
For  the  moon,  later,  to  paint 
Her  portrait  of  light  and  shade. 

No  sun-washed  heaven  that  tells  not 

of  the  moon; 

No  moon  that  doth  not  limn 
Her  frail,  faery  dream 
On  the  sea's  fluctuating  rim. 


[69] 

One  word  the  ships  speak. 
Only  loud  or  low  the  tone; 
One  mist  hovering  about  them: 
A  violet  flute  with  lavender  speech. 

The  waves  sing  a  song,  their  own, 
To  answer  the  screech  of  the  gull; 
The  sunsets  fiery  music 
Breaks  the  heavens'  blue  lull. 

Dance  the  golden  cloud-ships 
With  sails  of  rose  and  silver; 
While  from  the  haven  of  the  east, 
The  moon-ship  weighs  her  anchor. 

The  sun-galleon  has  rowed  downwards; 
As  our  ships  the  self-same  way; 
The  moon  and  her  star  fleet  sail  heavenward, 
Following  Night's  trackless  pathway. 


Silver-footed  dawn. 
Treading  the  still  air; 
The  sun-censer's  golden  fume 
Tinting  the  turquoise  dome. 
Descends  to  the  greened  floor  of  this  cathe 
dral  of  nature. 

The  shy  wood-goddess. 

Vainly  clinging  to  her  vanishing  raiment  of 

mist, 

With  bowed  head  weeps  tears  of  dew, 
That  overfill  the  flower-hearts, 
Weeping  joyfully,  this  hour. 

Night's  sorrow,  day's  joy; 

Bird- votary's  hymn  of  love; 

The  fading  silence  and  morning  star; 

Man-child's  awakening  laughter  .    .    ; 

What  mirage,  this,  in  the  desert  of  my  heart  ? 


[71] 

DANCE-WORSHIP 

The  breeze-spectator,  still,  awe-struck; 

Falls  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  leaf; 

The  trees,  the  meadows,  the  pools 

Build  the  silent  temple-hall  for  peace. 

To  the  music  of  moon  and  stars 

Played  by  the  minute,  and  hour-hands  of  time; 

Dances  Nature's  Night-Bayadere* 

With  the  castanets  of  sleep  and  dream. 

*  Bayadere  is  the  name  given  to  a  class  of  Hindu  dancers. 


[72] 

Sun,  moon  and  stars, 
Chalices  but  these 
In  the  hand  of  revelers, 
That  fill  with  fancies 
Their  crystal-white  hearts. 

In  the  blue's  infinite  tavern, 

Have  met  our  souls, 

Each  a  luminous  sun 

On  rainbow  orbits  dances  and  rolls, 

Singing  His  Song,  with  His  Love,  drunk, 


[731 

PLOUGHMAN'S  SONG 

Gold-dusty,  saffron-robed  maid, 

What  love  brings  thee 

In  the  wake  of  the  morning  star? 

Night's  veil  of  silence 

Thou  tearest  to  fling  away. 

Laughing  with  such  mirth  — 
The  breeze  thy  playmate  — 
What  playful  mood,  this?  I  ask. 

What  wonders  dost  thou  see 

From  thine  azure  throne  on  high, 

That  I  can  not  see  from 

My  torn  bed  of  straw? 

I  hear  the  roll  of  thy  chariot  wheels 

On  the  red-paved  pathway  of  the  sky. 

A  man,  I  have  not  thy  wing; 
Old,  worn,  how  can  I  fly  from  land  to  sea? 
Beckon  me  not  to  follow  thee; 
Let  me  dream,  let  me  lie, 
Watch  thy  triumphal  march, 
And  listen  to  thy  soul-lifting  hymn, 
Sung  by  thy  playmates  that,  lo!  are  winging 
the  breeze. 


[74] 

Gone  yesterday's  rain; 

Star-babies  play  in  heaven; 

The  breeze  that  with  clouds 

Stole  the  moon,  lies  in  chains 

In  the  mountain's  dark  cavern. 

The  golden  children  of  night 

Raise  their  arms  in  joy, 

As  the  moon-nurse  opens 

The  nursery  door  of  West, 

And  gives  these  the  golden  sun  for  toy. 


[751 

The  amber  dusk  veils  the  orange-tinted  sea; 

The  coral-moon  spreads  silver  wings 

Like  a  gull,  from  a  mysterious  sea. 

Follows  in  the  wake  of  Night's  star-laden  argosy. 


[76] 

COMING  OF  DAWN 

Thin  silver  cloud-veils  hide  the  moon. 
The  star-steeds  of  the  chariot  of  night 
Course  for  the  western  hills; 
The  west-wind  a  ceaseless  flute  playing, 
With  its  stops  of  falling  autumn  leaves. 

The  forest  and  the  valley  a  map 
Drawn  by  the  explorers  in  the  land  of  reverie: 
They  color  it  with  tones  of  violet  and  lavender; 
Or,  make  rainbow  waves  of  leaf  and  light 
With  tones  from  the  changing  palette  of  the 
breeze. 

At  last,  the  thin  clouds  become  thinner  yet; 
The  moon  now  a  moonstone  in  an  opal  dream; 
The  leaves  cease  dropping,  and  dead  the  wind; 
Begins  a  new  measure,  a  new  flute  playing, 
As    the    star-steeds'    golden    hoofs    touch    the 
western  hills. 


177) 

Thy  world  it  is; 
Thy  music  ringing; 
Thy  stars  listening! 
A  wanderer,  I. 
Rest,  oh,  let  me  rest! 
In  peace  let  me  lie! 


BIRTH  OF  DAY 

A  cloud  of  agony  thy  face; 
Poignant  the  silence  of  gray; 
Lo!  hear  the  golden  cry  that  breaks  it? 
Rejoice!  O  Night: 
Thy  Child  is  born  — 
The  Day! 


HERE  ENDS  "RAJANI,  SONGS  OF  THE  NIGHT,"  BY 
DHAN  GOPAL  MUKERJI,  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY  DAVID  STARR  JORDAN.  DONE  INTO  BOOK 
FORM  BY  PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY,  AND 
PRINTED  AT  THEIR  TOMOYE  PRESS  UNDER  THE 
DIRECTION  OF  HERMAN  A.  FUNKE  IN  THE  CITY 
OF  SAN  FRANCISCO  DURING  THE  MONTH  OF 
MARCH,  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  AND  SIXTEEN 


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